


Desmond's Inferno

by TooDumbToDie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Foot Fetish, Highly unerotic NSFW content, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29238654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooDumbToDie/pseuds/TooDumbToDie
Summary: The story of a man with a crippling foot fetish who finds himself in a footless hell.
Relationships: Desmond/Woman with no feet
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6





	Desmond's Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> To those reading, this story does not reflect my unironic opinions. I pass no judgement to those who have foot fetishes. If this accidentally communicates anything bigoted, that was purely unintentional and from the perspective of Desmond. I do not condone anything like that.

**And also there are some content warnings for this story like a suicide attempt and some minor but highly unerotic NSFW content.**

It was like most deaths. Boring, mundane, and underwhelming. It wasn’t a cool car crash in a sports car, sparks flying and another tragic celebrity death. Nor was it even morbidly funny like that one king who ran into a river with armour on and died. It was just a boring heart attack. There one minute and gone the next.

And the descent into the afterlife wasn’t much more interesting either. It was nothing more than an elevator, made of glass and steel descending through the sheets of dirt into the afterworld. Sure at first you see rabbit burrows and interesting tidbits of history buried long ago and forgotten. But then slowly, as it goes even deeper, it becomes miles of endless dirt and stone. The longest elevator ride of one’s life. 

What could have been either hours later or mere seconds, the elevator touched down and a stout middle-aged man stepped out. Unbeknownst to him as he was especially dim and perverted, he had found himself in his own personal hell. The Devil had crafted it just for him but outwardly it appeared to be fine. And for all the man knew, he was in heaven or that he was simply dreaming and that the Christian afterlife didn’t exist. But Desmond, as that was the man’s name was just bored. Very bored as he watched the people, the ordinary folk run around and deal with their personal business in what appeared to be the subterranean city he had just landed in.

There was something that many didn’t know about Desmond. Not even his ex-wife knew but Desmond had a nigh crippling foot fetish. In his shed, he had stacks and stacks of porno magazines. But of course, his ex-wife never cared enough to go into his ‘man shed’. I mean what else was there to find apart from a ratty sofa and some power drills? But she would have instead found her husband watching camgirls sucking their toes on camera and him pleasuring himself to the newest shoe catalogue he had scalped off the top of the junk mail pile. 

\---

And it didn’t take Desmond long to get back into his old habits. The woman. He didn’t know her name but she sat on the edge of her bed in her dingy apartment. And slowly, just for him, she started unbuttoning her blouse and then removed her skirt until she was only left in her undergarments. Desmond was simply horny as fuck. It had been a long time since he had felt a woman or even been wanted by a woman, especially with his loveless marriage and his subsequent divorce.

He plastered kisses down the length of her naked body until he reached her feet, her socks still on. Poor desmond had been deprived of feet for so long. He felt a great stirring in his heart and other parts of his body and then with relish, pulled off one of her socks. As he removed the white cotton sock off her foot, five fingers sprung out as if they were spring-loaded. It quickly dawned on him, this woman had no feet. Instead, she had only hands which she kept contained in a pair of socks.

There was something extremely unerotic about the hands and the shock that came with it, her freakish deformed body that instantly killed his boner.

“What the fuck.”

She just looked at him confused and baffled as if someone had asked you why you have eyes or why you have a nose. It was just another innate part of her biology, completely natural.

“Your feet. What the fuck is wrong with them?”

“My feet are normal thank you very much.”

“You have fingers. Why do you have fingers on your fucking foot? WHERE ARE THE TOES?”

What could have been perhaps a sliver of leftover soft confusion finally turned to irritation at his stupidity, her mouth flattening into a line. Destructive interference.

“What toes? Everyone has feet like this you bloody moron.”

“NO, THEY FUCKING DON’T.”

As many would know, the first stage of the mourning process is always shock and denial. It is the unwillingness to accept and adjust your new reality and the loss of something you once held dear. And as he had earlier laid on her bed in hell, his family were conducting his funeral. While he peeled off her socks, his mother had wept and wondered where she had gone wrong. Even his ex-wife had turned up, all dressed in black. And just like him, they were mourning though wildly different things. One could even go as far as to call him selfish. While his family was left bereaved, he was yelling at some poor naked woman about her hand-feet. 

“Yes they fucking do.” the woman snapped back.

And with that, she climbed off her bed, pulled on a sweater and shoved him out of her bedroom and then out of her ratty little apartment.

Desmond just stood outside, thinking over his life choices and his situation (though with too little self-awareness to realise he had maybe fucked up). He was stuck in his own personal footless hell and had no idea what to do about it. Was there even anything that could be done? Where would one even start addressing this problem? Of course, he still didn’t know he was in hell. It was just his personal hell after all. Completely free of brimstone, fire, and the screams of sinners being tortured. But also free of the ever-elusive toes. 

\---

Later that night he sat down on his sofa in the small apartment which he had acquired suspiciously easily (after all it was his own personal hell). He flicked the tv on and kicked his shoes off. And with his gaze on the soccer, he started to peel his own socks off. The stinky cotton peeled off like cling wrap peeling off a squashed banana which had previously sat in the bottom of someone’s backpack. So absolutely rancid and slimy. 

And then to his horror, he looked down at his feet. Normally he had very large hairy toes which squirmed like morbidly obese worms. But these weren’t his toes, instead, they had been replaced by fingers. He had hand-feet and with that, he let out a blood-curdling scream.

It didn’t take long for his neighbour to knock on his door. She had come to his aid, concerned at the noise but he just ignored her frantic knocking. Instead, he devoted his time to hyperventilating and freaking out. And as some of you might know, there is nothing more terrifying than being stuck in a body which brings you nothing but discomfort. A quasi-alien flesh vessel which brings nothing but dread and various blackpills into your life. It's the knowledge that you’re fucked and that it’ll never get better. That your body is deformed until the day you die. But at least you get a break from it, Desmond was stuck in the afterlife and was unaware of his immortality. 

And that dawned on him quickly. There was no escape but perhaps it was worth a try. And what that escape was quickly became evident as he walked outside his apartment onto his balcony. It overlooked the underworld city and its eerie orange-yellow brimstone sunsets. Alien and beautiful. He stood there for a second just admiring the view before he realised, he had no more toes and then he carefully mounted the railing of his balcony, his legs dangling into the abyss. He felt the warm breeze on his face, the slight taste of sulphur still clinging into it. And then he dropped into the abyss, impacting with the pavement.

When he next woke, he was lying in a hospital bed. It was all painfully stereotypical apart from the fact that he was still alive. That was abnormal. And for a second he frantically sat up, tugging as his tubes and IV drip. He looked down at his feet and his whole body. He had been packed into a full-body cast, obscuring all of him apart from the very tips of his toes as that's how casts tend to work. He could see his toes poking through. Or at least what he hoped for but instead, he just saw his ten other fingers looking back at him. Almost smiling at him and taunting him. And that’s when he finally realised he was in hell. 

  
  



End file.
